


Laughing The Whole Time

by clockworkrobots



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 10:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the infamous wrestling incident at a Toronto convention, Jensen and Misha resume their “wrestling” match in Chicago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laughing The Whole Time

**Author's Note:**

> This will make a whole lot more sense if you know about the cast's apparent penchant for wrestling, but if you're not aware basically it got so bad at one convention that Jensen appeared to work the next day with rug burn scabs on his face.

  
It was probably all Jared’s fault, as usual. 

Jared’s fault for living vicariously through them and plying them with white wine, when he knew full and well  _he_  was getting an early(- _ish_ ) night with Gen and Thomas. Jared’s fault for leaving the only two empty chairs for them conveniently next to each other—for leaving them alone in them after he’d gone to bed.

No, it was  _completely_  Jared. It had nothing to do with the way Jensen’s lips fit around his wine glass, or the way Misha’s nose adorably scrunched when he laughed. If Jensen and Misha could not keep out of each other’s space or stray their gazes, it was, of course, not due to the fact that Jensen licked his lips every time he saw Misha’s eyes flick down to them. Nor could Jensen be blamed for the way his heart sped up when Misha leaned back in his chair, absurd thighs sprawling out in languid and inviting shapes.

It’s totally,  _obviously,_  not their fault that when they get up to Jensen’s room, all buzzed from dinner and high on laughter, that they can barely wait for the door to be closed before Jensen is on him, slamming Misha into the wall and devouring his mouth with purpose. Misha moans into it, hips jerking into Jensen’s as he grips the back of his grey sweater. 

“Jensen—” Misha grits out between breaths and scratches of teeth and tongue. “ _Bed_.”

Jensen grins into the side of Misha’s stubbly face. “I had a better idea,” he says, and instead of backing Misha into the bed behind them, throws him down onto the floor next to it. “Payback.”

Misha’s eyes widen in momentary shock before gleaming as well. “Jensen Ackles, if you’re going to throw me onto the carpet, you better join me and make me feel it in the morning,” he teases, licking his full and flushed lips. 

Jensen quickly dives down and straddles his torso, and, needing no further prompting, emits something close to a low growl as he leans down over Misha and takes his lips in another hungry kiss. 

“I can’t believe you told them about that,” he says soon after, nipping at the underside of Misha’s jaw as the other man stretches out cat-like beneath him. 

Misha feigns innocence, corners of his mouth twitching and threatening mischief. “About what?”

Jensen shifts and moves back up to look him in the eye with mock sternness  “Oh, _you know._ ”

“No, no, ah—,” Misha begins to protest, but Jensen’s grinding downwards stutters his thought. “Please, ah, enlighten me,” he finishes, as he gives as good as he gets and thrusts upwards as much as he can, with Jensen’s weight upon him. 

“Or,” Jensen’s eyes glint in suspicious delight of an oncoming plan—“I could,” he suddenly flips Misha over onto his stomach—“just  _show_  you,” he whispers, mouth ghosting at the back of Misha’s ear, raising the small hairs at the base of his neck, and sending a visible shiver of anticipation down his body.

“Well, you  _are_  doing an awful lot of talking for someone purporting to be a man of action. We are, after all, both still clothed,” Misha points out, and grins into the carpet as he hears Jensen stand up and then quickly begin to divest himself of his shirt and pants. He shifts himself back around and sits up, leaning back on his hands to get a nice and full front seat view of Jensen stripping.

“Are you not joing me?” Jensen asks, cocking an eyebrow as he unbuttons his belt.

Misha grins even wider. “It would be my pleasure,” he says from his spot on the floor, which evidently is comfortable enough that instead of standing up to employ Jensen in his own undress, he begins unbuttoning and unbuckling himself while still seated.

“Are you…,” Jensen begins, removing his last sock and swaying slightly from the wine, “just going to stay there?”

“I thought you wanted to wrestle like the Greeks?” Misha answers, shimmying out of his boxers.

Jensen’s tipsy state is betrayed as he narrows his eyes. “I wanted to have sex.”

“Exactly,” Misha laughs, as he grabs Jensen’s hand and jerks him off balance to fall forward, practically back into his lap.

“ _Oh._ ”

Misha’s eyes flash with some weird Misha-like combination of softness and suggestiveness. “Yeah, you’re catching up.”

In fact, he catches on startling well, first at Misha throat, which he licks and sucks until Misha keens that perfect sound. Misha scratches his fingers down Jensen’s bare back, and Jensen moans contentedly into the curve of the collar bone he has currently chosen to make himself and his mouth at home in. 

They could have blamed it on any number of things—Jared, wine, enthusiastic fans and their damned encouraging smiles—but in this moment, as Jensen threads his fingers between Misha’s to pin him down, there is little else to think about but the fantastic feeling of being fucked. And as Jensen fumbles with one free hand for the lube stashed in the bedside table above and beside them, he thinks, victoriously, that Misha is _so_  going to feel this in the morning.

Misha will remember how the friction of the carpet beneath them was nothing compared to the luscious glide and thrust of Jensen inside him, how the soreness in his legs the next day will be nothing to the soreness he feels in his face, smiling into the side of Jensen’s cheek. Misha will remember the way Jensen held his eyes with his own, trailed a finger down his face in aching tenderness before carrying Misha to his climax, and then his own, panting through one last ecstatic, breathless cry of Misha’s name. He’ll remember the way he was so deliriously in love he didn’t care that he was 38 and having rough sex on a hotel room carpet.  He’ll remember how hopelessly ridiculous it was, and how wonderful.

They both will.

When Jared sees Jensen’s newly reddened skin the next day, he just laughs. Jensen blushes, thanking god his clothes hide the worst of it.

 

 


End file.
